Harry Potter and the Girl Who Helped
by Girl. Pen in hand
Summary: Emma Cunningham was a very normal girl before she found out she was a witch. After arriving at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, she had some very interesting experiences with some very interesting people...


Emma Cunningham led a very average life, indeed. She had very average parents, attended a very average school, and took very average marks back to a very average home. She had average friends and an average appearance. Emma Cunningham, however, was in no way ordinary. She was, though she wasn't quite aware of it, incredibly extraordinary.

Emma Cunningham was, in fact, a witch. She wasn't mean, or nasty, or the type of girl to dip your pigtails in ink, no; she was a magical witch, the kind that could cast spells, make strange things happen that couldn't always be explained away, and had just a very magical air about her. Everyone else recognized it, but nobody could quite place the exact oddity about her.

It was on the first morning of summer holidays that Emma's ordinary life began to take a turn for the extraordinary. She woke up to a strange tapping on her window. Opening one bleary eye, she glanced over at the glass and jumped when she saw that the tapping was being made by a large eagle owl.

"What the-?" Emma was baffled beyond movement for a moment; she had never seen a live owl, much less at 9:30 in the morning. From the urgent tapping of its beak against the pane, it seemed like it wanted in. Against her better judgment, Emma hesitantly crossed to the window and unhooked the latch, unlocking it and letting in the owl.

It was handsome and official-looking (as though an owl could look official, thought Emma), and it ruffled its feathers as though it had more exciting places to be than in the bedroom of a 13-year-old girl. "Well, go on then!" Emma said impatiently, wondering what in the world she was doing. Owls couldn't understand English…could they?

This owl seemed to be able to. It gave her a stern look as it landed on her bed ("Shoo!" Emma yelled, waving her arms in front of it, but that just earned another glare), holding out its leg in a let's-get-this-over-with sort of way. Emma reached out a timid hand, lest the owl should be less than tame and bite her, or something. It looked offended that should would even think such a thing, seemingly becoming impatient.

Emma snatched the large, heavy envelope from around the bird's leg before it decided to lose its domestication. It ruffled its feathers once more and set off, soaring out into the bright morning sun, back to wherever it had come from. Emma closed and locked the window, lest anymore wildlife decided to drop in with the post.

Emma finally glanced down at the letter in her hands. The envelope was made of heavy parchment paper, her address written in loopy handwriting with maroon ink. A very strange address it was, too:

Ms. Emma Arlene Cunningham

Second Window from the Left

Second Floor

1545 Plum Tree Lane

London, England

Emma tried to shrug it off as a gag of some sort, but something told her, as she slid her finger under the red wax seal (a coat of arms around a large H), that this was something much more. She pulled out several leafs of heavy parchment paper. She looked over the topmost sheet, eyes becoming wide as pie-plates as she took in the information they offered.

Dear Ms. Cunningham,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This is a huge opportunity and we will expect you to treat your admission as such. Term begins on 1 September. Enclosed, you will find a complete list of all equipment and tools you will be needing, in addition to books for your classes. We await your owl by 31 July with your admittance acceptation. Congratulations! We look forward to having you attend our school.

Sincerely,

Professor M. McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Emma's stomach did a strange back flip. Could this be for _real? _It didn't seem possible. Witches and wizards didn't really exist! It was a figment of imagination, a fairytale…But what if it wasn't? Emma glanced once more over the letter and felt suddenly nervous and excited at the same time. This was impossible, absolutely bonkers.

Emma shuffled to the next part of the letter, which was a list. Her eyes roamed over the crimson ink, telling her that she needed a cauldron, robes, a wand, and many other things that she was sure she wouldn't be able to find anywhere around London. This all seemed too much to take in. A magic wand? As far as she knew, magic wands only existed in books, movies, and folklore. Emma just couldn't wrap her mind around this impossible situation.

There was a third and final piece of paper which caught Emma's attention. She read:

Dear Ms. Cunningham,

It has come to our attention that you are not of wizard descent and, in our terms, a muggle-born. These being the circumstances, there is a very good chance that you do not completely understand what you've just read. A representative of Hogwarts will be sent out to explain things to you at roughly noon today. Please be at your place of residence with your parent and/or guardian at this time, and willing to listen. All your questions should be answered at this time. Thank you.

Sincerely,

Professor M. McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Emma blinked, open-mouthed, at the letter. She was trying to absorb all the information that was heaved into the three letters in front of her. Did they mean that a wizard would be coming to her home? A real wizard! No, Emma quickly corrected herself. No, there had to be some sort of…game. Yes, that was it. A game. A joke. Perhaps a television show? Emma relaxed. This was obviously some new reality television program. A prank show, or something. Emma walked around her room, inspecting it for hidden cameras. She didn't see any, but they were likely cleverly hidden.

Emma shook her head to clear her mind, setting the letters on her bedside table and going down the stairs to join her family at breakfast. They need not know about this, thought Emma.

"Good morning, honey. Why are you up so early on the first day of summer holidays?" Mrs. Cunningham was flipping eggs at the stovetop and Mr. Cunningham was sitting down at the breakfast table, reading the Saturday paper.

"Oh, I guess…I'm just in the habit of waking early," lied Emma. It wasn't an awful lie. Why need her parents know that she had been awoken so early by an owl carrying a letter telling her that she was a witch? It sounded even crazier when she tried to explain it in her own head. She blinked a couple of times, shaking a few times. While her parents' backs were turned, Emma threw the letter in the bin.

"What are you doing today, Em?"

"…Hm? Oh, um…nothing. I figured I'd just use my last day to relax. In fact, I think I'm going back to bed." Emma stood up and made her way back to her room, collapsing onto her bed, already knowing that sleep would not come. Instead of sleeping, she lay in her bed, wondering if something would happen at noon. What if someone actually did show up? What if it was some loon with a complete lack of a grip on reality? What if it was some crazy killer? Emma shuddered.

The hours ticked by; ten, eleven, eleven-thirty, eleven-thirty-one, eleven-thirty-two…That last half-hour was the slowest for the girl. She literally counted the minutes before noon. Finally, 12 in the afternoon clicked on her little bedside digital clock, and Emma breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing. Surely, if something were going to happen, it would have happened as soon as the hour had struck. Emma heaved herself out of bed and trekked down the stairs, feeling light as a feather and somewhat peckish. Perhaps she'd have some of whatever her mother had made-

Emma's thoughts of breakfast were interrupted by the doorbell ringing. She snapped her head around, looking behind her at the door she had just passed on the way down. No, certainly not…

"Emma, why didn't you get the door?" her father asked as he passed her in the hall, crossing to the door to open it. Emma wanted to grab him, keep him from answering and seeing what may be behind the door, but she couldn't move, couldn't speak. All Emmacould do was gape as her father pulled open the door to reveal a very strange sight, indeed.

There, upon the porch, stood a man. He was tall, and very old with a magical air about him. He had several feet of white hair and beard, so long that he almost stepped on it as he stepped past Mr. Cunningham and into the foyer. His length of hair wasn't the strangest thing about him, however; he was wearing long, midnight-blue robes that hung very loose on his thin figure. Kind, blue eyes twinkled out from behind half-moon spectacles that balanced on a very long, thin, and crooked nose. One thing was certain: the likes of this man had certainly never before been seen on Plum Tree Lane.

"Hello," he said in a kindly voice to Emma, who continued to gape at him in amazement. "I expect you received your letter?"

Emma slowly nodded.


End file.
